Whenever a gynecological procedure makes me cry, I get to shop.  So I have a new purse and some blouses.  Today I had to have a hysteroscopy, (which in the Greek is "have a look around In There") and they got the "hyster-" prefix right, at least in my case.   The speculum, as we all know, has way too many moving metal parts, always hurts, and (note to all you medical professionals out there) telling me to take deep breaths when I’m sobbing in pain and fear is probably not going to help.  I’m sure there are some tough old gals out there who handle the speculum just fine, but I’m not one of them.  Anyway, all the pain and humiliation was worth it, since in today’s gynecological adventure they filled me up with saline to see how my aging uterus is doing.  "There might be a little cramping afterwards", they tell me – bastards.  In the words of the unidentified ultrasound tech ("hi, I’ve got my hand in your hoo-hoo but I’m not going to bother to introduce myself") – "the cavity looks just fine."  So, hurray.  Endometriosis, which I have a lot of, is when the tissue responsible for making a nice plush lining inside the uterus has gotten outside the uterus and is stuck all over everyplace else like Spanish moss.  The irony is that it’s not supposed to be outside the uterus, but at least the uterus itself is intact – except sometimes there are fibroid tumors that grow right through the uterine wall and wreak havoc with any embryo that is foolish enough to try and grow in there.  Happily an irony-free day for me as the uterus is about the only thing Down There that doesn’t have three heads and is healthy, and all I had to do was make a fool of myself in the stirrups to find out.

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